


Just The Night Shift

by himaAlaya



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Dark, Crimes & Criminals, Heist, Multi, Murder, Post-Sburb, Robbery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himaAlaya/pseuds/himaAlaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Crocker and John Egbert work together to complete some odd jobs. This is a small recounting of their adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mowing the Lawn

You knew all the tricks of the trade at this point.

It was easy enough to get a reputation for being the duo that’s robbed just about every bank in the damn state, you were discreet enough that no one had caught you at this point.

The trick was to throw them off every time.

People always expected someone tall and someone short, ski masks, that was the most boring thing that anyone could possibly do.

It was far to cliche to work at this point, people watched movies after all.

It was even more cliche to rob a bank during the day, jesus christ, were people just stupid?

Well today you were taking the dangerous route, sometimes it was worth the adrenaline. Today you were doing it alone, your accomplice ready to go. It was small enough that you could get in and out.

Your name is John Egbert, and you have nothing to lose.

Today, you were a man in a suit, most people described you as a teenager, old hoodie and everything. You had more than enough money to splurge on nicer clothes, and you for sure did that today. The second thing was to keep traces off everything, don’t drop any hair. Be careful not to get caught. 

These were basically the rules you lived by, that and keep your car working. Can’t be a criminal without a get away vehicle.

Despite the day being overly warm, you were wearing gloves, good for the job, good for your style.

You stand in line, inching forward. You reach the register, seemingly just another rich man wanting an obscure bank account. You pull the gun from your pocket.

“Empty the register, unless you want to be the first and only victim.” 

You are hyperaware of the security cameras sizing you up, of him pressing the button for the police. They won’t be long. You have to speed this up.

You pull the trigger, one shot into the air. “You might want to hurry up.”

Producing a briefcase, you set it on the counter clicking it open with a single hand. “I haven’t got all day.” The gun is now pointed at him, but he’s not budging.

You point it at the woman next to you. “You have until i count to five, or she’s the first of many.” Your grip on the trigger tightens, you’ve done this a thousand times before, you aren’t hesitating to do it again. “I’m waiting.”

“One.” Your finger tightens more, and the woman starts to shake.

“Two.” Already loaded and ready to go.

“Three.” He’s still not moving.

“Four.” God, this man is a stingy bastard.

“Five.” You pull the trigger, barely flinching at the recoil. You only shoot her where it would hurt. She’ll survive. 

You know that, but they don’t.

“Who’s next? Maybe it is you.” You point the gun back towards the teller, he’s fumbling with his keys, now filling up the briefcase with as much as he can. You tip your hat as you turn it around, cutting off the cash flow.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sirens are sounding outside, he took too damn long. You shoot the ceiling a few more times, watching everyone hit the floor. You slip behind the counter, pressing the gun to his back. “You’ll never catch me.” The last thing you say to a person you’ll never even see again. You get out the back, floorplans just like they should be.

As soon as you’re out of range of the security cameras, your ride drives up. The sirens continue to blare as the police are actually trying to do their work. You throw the trunk open, the briefcase inside as well as the suit jacket and hat, the wig goes too. You don’t want to be identifiable. 

Slamming the trunk, you slide into the front seat. “Floor it, now.” You’re on your way now, on the way to an abandoned building in the area to do all the after work.

Another job well done.


	2. Walking the Dogs

You know all the rules by now.

When John does his solo missions they’re so much different from yours. You’ve learned that this is exactly what it is: a style. A finesse. A way to go about it. Despite being so close, the two of you have very different tactics, and you mesh them together well, but sometimes it’s just a job you have to do alone.

John likes the structure. He likes knowing what to expect, calculating a little bit but not enough to call it a genuine mathematic structure. That’s Dirk, not John. You know he likes you parked exactly where he shows you the day before, you know he prefers to wear the blonde wigs and you have to do his eyebrows to match every single time. You think of the way he wiggles his eyebrows as you try to paint them yellow with careful pencil and you get into little two-minute makeup fights and the way he laughs makes your heart swell, because he doesn’t laugh like that for anyone but you.

You smile on an inhale and tilt your head to glance at the clock, thinking, thinking, thinking.

Bank robberies are John’s thing. You find them boring, a little dull, too cliché. You prefer more social interaction than that, games of intellect and emotion above these floorplans and blueprints John loves so much. 

You tap the cigarette in your fingers into the ash tray- then second-thought it, and dump the whole thing out the window before replacing it. It was getting full, John never dumped the thing and you’re pretty sure he does that on purpose, to get your nerves up.

You slide the radio dial up, you listen to the static crackle between the soft jazz you can only play when John isn’t in the car. You shut your eyes and try to relax as best you can, exhaling slowly and aiming it out the window. You still try to keep the car smelling nice- it’s completely useless, you’ve been living in here for a couple years now, drenching the upholstery in smoke and McDonalds.

You hear his footsteps and heave a long, loud sigh, as you toss your cigarette in the tray and then out the window once you’re sure it’s put out. You change the station to something harder, something more fitting of the moment, and you pull your foot off the brake when he opens the door. He tells you to floor it, and you do, peeling out of the spot you’ve secured behind the bank, and toss him the carton of cigarettes that is nearly barren save for two.

As soon as you get to the first stop sign, you really do halt. There is a steady flow of city traffic, and you slowly ease into it. Your unsuspecting vehicle blends in with every other one, and your lack of haste makes you an unlikely target. You’re better at driving and getaways than John.   
You finally speak to him.

“So, any casualties?” 

You talk like its weather and when you glance over at him, a little twinge of your lips to the right curve, you know that his hair ruffles in a way no air conditioning unit could possibly manage. 

You talk like it’s the weather because it’s the work of the weather that sits in your passenger seat, a product of wind and storm and the occasional sprinkling of Ghostbusters.


End file.
